Beneath Still Water
by DrippingRedRoses
Summary: Post-Reichenbach, John Watson has resigned himself to a lonely life of unfortunate events. Oneshot, moving my other ideas elsewhere!


After a long, three year hiatus, John Watson had grown used to having an empty hole in his heart. The dull ache that Sherlock Holmes had left had not been easy to forget. After a brief stint with alcohol and a string of weeks he could not remember, he put down the bottle, tucked away his feelings and continued with his life, only appearing to be slightly more broken than before. Then he met _her_ and the pain became bearable. John felt somewhat less lonely, but never fully complete. The hole in his heart grew smaller, only to be torn open again, raw, bleeding and bigger than before.

Now accustomed to the idea of bad luck, a quiet flat, and a forsaken future, the knock on the door that one faithful day proved that life had not completely abandoned Dr. John H. Watson.

Leaning against the wall, cane idly by his side, John watched Sherlock's movements from a distance. He realized how much he actually cared for the off-putting man. It scared him how easily he had forgotten the face of the world's only consulting detective, someone who had meant so much to him in such a short time. Sherlock had let him stand there, shuffling things around the room, reclaiming his possessions and taking stock of what needed to be replaced. John closed his eyes to enjoy the sound of another human being. He opened them back up to see the ghost of a womanly figure, fidgeting with various objects, cleaning and straightening up. The smell of vanilla lilac hung in the air, reminding him of faint, tinkling laughter and stolen kisses. It gave his vision a rosy color.

The pain in his leg brought him back to reality. He shifted to put more of his weight on the cane. Sherlock was keenly aware of his presence and his squirming. Something in his eyes told John that he wanted to say something, but as quickly as the thought crossed Sherlock's mind, he was distracted with something of more importance. Sherlock made a motion that said he'd be right back, unwilling to break the uncomfortable silence and scurried out of the room.

There it was again. That annoyingly empty high pitched sound of silence. John had become so accustomed to the noise that even when he put on the telly, he could hear it, stabbing his brain subtly. A constant reminder. _You're alone, _the high note sang. _Completely and utterly alone. _

When Sherlock returned, John visibly relaxed. He was carrying a violin case, something that had mysteriously disappeared from the flat the day of Sherlock's "death." John hadn't been bothered when Mrs. Hudson informed him of the missing item. He contemplated taking up the violin in an effort to regain a bit of closeness with his flatemate's memory, but he gave up on the idea at once. His large, callused fingers would not do well for playing the delicate instrument, especially if they were to be reaching as high as Sherlock did when his fingers danced across the fingerboard, creating a melody John suddenly longed to hear.

Glancing at Sherlock putting away his violin case in a corner of the room, he let it sink in that his closest friend had really pulled of the only miracle he had prayed for since the war. His emotions were in complete turmoil, pulling and pushing like waves, racing towards the shore, wanting to spill out from his mind to his mouth. They would only crash on the coast, leaving the army doctor dizzy and retreating feebly into his mind. Exhilarating as it was to feel again, he was still unsure of what it exactly it was that he was feeling.

He did not need to soul search to know that all he wanted to do was run up to Sherlock and never let go. He knew without a doubt the detective would only ask him what he was doing out of courtesy that he only reserved for John, deduce his motives, logically store them in the back of his mind and send off his friend like an annoying two year old.

Lost in the flurry of his thoughts, he had forgotten how observant his flatmate was and attempted to cover up any damage created by his blank expression by ruffling his hair and tapping his cane against the floor uneasily.

Sherlock walked by, raised an eyebrow at him, and turned into his former bedroom to assess the damage that had been done.

One emotion shown through the cloud of confusion and pulled relentlessly, stronger now with the reduced space between them; it yanked at his heartstrings, shortened his breath and increased the tightness in his chest. His throat constrained like it did when he was younger and was attempting, yet failing, to contain his excitement.

He coughed loudly, to relieve the stress on his throat.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock's voice was sprinkled with mild concerned.

The first time John had heard his voice in three years. The mere sound of his voice created an eruption of feeling. The strings broke. He was falling. Away from denial and into acceptance.

"_I love you_." John whispered to the kitchen counters. A tear ran down his cheek as he choked out a simple, "Yeah. I'm fine."

Sherlock popped his head in to the room, looking rather like a cartoon character, out of place in the grey atmosphere of the flat.

"Of course you're not." Sherlock stated impassively. "You're showing clear signs of depression, regressing so far back that—" He cut himself short. He narrowed his eyes. He raised his arms in an almost hesitant manner. Unsure of what to do with them, he landed them unceremoniously on John's shoulders.

"I've missed my blogger." The deep voice muttered. John was unable to stop himself. He heard himself let out a long sigh and accepted that he was not going to hide how he felt. Two solid years of having a broken heart had led him to resign to loneliness. If this failed, it would be alright. Sherlock was alive and well and somehow that was enough.

Before he could even lean in, Sherlock had already observed, catalogued and responded accordingly with a swift kiss on his lips.

After all this time, it would finally be okay.

**A/N: I can only dream of owning the rights of Sherlock. Reviews make me happy (:  
>-LM<strong>


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